


Made for Each Other

by dogmatix, norcumi



Series: Teeny Tiny Mandalorian Kenobis [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, GFY, M/M, Post Order 66, Tiny Cloned Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3859078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rex lost both his Generals to Order 66. He could do nothing about General Skywalker. He was close to the Jedi, but as friends and comrades only.</p><p>His lover Obi-Wan Kenobi, on the other hand, had left him a vital memento. The Kaminoans promised him it would be enough for a clone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made for Each Other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/gifts).



> Based upon [this](http://lectorel.tumblr.com/post/114916368743) conversation.

“Captain Rex, your payment.”

He turns away from the window, hand clenched against the shame and horror of what he’s doing, what he’s done, what he can’t help himself from doing, because clones were made for Jedi, and now that’s turned on its head in this mad new Empire.

He can’t _breathe_ for a moment, heart clenching tighter than his hands ever could as he stares at the tiny figure stepping out from behind the towering Kaminoan. Such a small thing, a youngling not even six years old, soft around the edges and oh so serious in expression. The eyes are that precise shade between blue and green that he almost never got to see, only as flickers of contentment during stolen moments –

Then again, they were all stolen moments, weren’t they.

He crouches down, so as to be on the same level as the kid, who walks over to him with trust but hesitation, looking more and more confused. The short copper red hair is fluffy, a messy cut that’s not quite a padawan’s ridiculous trim, and damn the Kaminoans anyways for being insensitive bastards who have all the wrong notions of culture. The poor thing has the start of a learner’s braid snugged up behind the wrong ear, wrapped with bands that don’t convey any messages, any signals about skills or trials. Just color.

“Hi there,” Rex forces himself to say, speaking around a lump in his throat that wants to overflow into tears, because he can see all sorts of things about his Obi-Wan in this tiny copy, and it _hurts_. He knows on every level this is not his Obi-Wan, will not grow up into the Jedi who died. Rex knows it through every fiber of his own, cloned being. This is a new, unique person, a youngling who has yet to grow and make mistakes and please, Force and any gods that might be out there, live a good life.

“Hi,” the child answers, grave and facing him head-on despite the obvious emotional turmoil. “Am I really yours?”

His heart wrings even tighter, and he has to swallow a few times before nodding. “We’re actually each others’,” he manages. The clones were made for Jedi, and now there are Jedi being made for clones, and he desperately hopes that somewhere someone is pulling their head out of their ass and this absolute madness.

It won’t be him, he can see that. The voice is young, too soft and high pitched but he can already hear how it’ll smooth out later, deepening into something familiar and gone. Some Kamioan bastard has obviously been using training tapes with Coruscanti accents, because this youngling already has the precise diction and rounded vowels with a hint of burr to it.

Probably someone using old propaganda vids of Obi-Wan. _Gods, please let me not have totally screwed you over from the beginning, little one. I’m so sorry._

Then he shakes a bit, because he can feel a tentative little touch to his mind, feather-light but cautious in a way that Obi-Wan never was. It is an attempt at reassurance, both giving and getting, and he can’t stop himself from pulling the child into a hug. _Mine_ , a part of his mind growls, and he knows he’s just as lost as he was to the original Kenobi.

“I’m CT-7567,” he whispers. “Rex.”

“JCK-048,” the boy whispers back. “Atin.”

Rex has to close his eyes, trying not to squish the child in a hug. Stubborn. Tenacious. Capable of endurance.

Kenobi’s child, indeed.

“May I keep you?” he manages to breathe, once again missing that presence in his mind, his life, no matter how many years it has been since Order 66. The Temple. Mustafar. He’d been one step behind his generals the whole damn way through the end, so the last time he’d felt Obi-Wan had been over a month before everything going up in flames.

He wants so very badly to have this bright little presence in his life, but if he doesn’t pass muster, then by all that might still be holy he’ll find a good home for the youngling instead. He hopes the child can tell that, feel it.

And then _fuck_ if the boy doesn’t open up the touch between them, his mind gently presenting images, _memories_ to Rex.

Now he’s shaking with rage, clinging tight to _his_ child, the boy he’s worked hard for. Paid a lot of money for, put up with far too much condescending sniping as the Kaminoans compare him and his brothers to Jango. All for the convenience of the bastard Kaminoans who once again have shown they care for nothing but themselves.

 _Stay behind me,_ he tries to think loudly at Atin – Tenacious, indeed. There’s a small nod, so message probably received.

Rex moves fast, whirling around and blasters in hands before the Kaminoan has time to realize he has one aimed at his head, another at his heart. “We had a deal,” Rex declares, trying to keep it to a level growl instead of of howling his rage for every being in the building to hear. “We had a _contract_.”

Kry Tor blinks down at him, struggling for disdain and indifference. “And we have carried it out. You provided a genetic sample and funds –”

“One!” Rex yells. “Can’t you fuckers _count?_ ” His hands tighten his weapon butts, and he reminds himself that for the moment he needs the bastard. He’s not above grinding the muzzles deeper into forehead and chest. “I didn’t do this so you’d have Jedi to experiment on! You swore what I provided was sufficient for _one_ clone –”

“And so it is. As you can see.” A graceful gesture moves towards Atin, who crosses his arms and lifts his chin.

“Me, and my five brothers,” the boy declares, soft but determined, with no quaver to his voice.

For a moment, the Kaminoan glares at the boy, fury clear in his eyes.

Rex shifts his lower blaster enough to shoot the bastard in the shoulder.

He’s shaking a little as he lowers his weapons, realigned towards the scientist on the floor for a kill shot. “You broke your contract. You used my resources in inappropriate ways, contrary to the terms we agreed on. I’m taking your illicit profit, and if I see you again after this, I’ll be taking a hell of a lot more. Now where are my kids?”


End file.
